Celia Thaxter （b. 1836,d. 1894）,whose maiden name was Laighton,was born in Portsmouth,N.H. Much of her early life was passed on White Island,one of a group of small islands,called the Isles of Shoals,about ten miles from the shore,where she lived in the lighthouse cottage. In 1867-68,she published,in the "Atlantic Monthly," a number of papers on these islands,which were afterwards bound in a separate volume. Mrs. Thaxter was a contributor tseveral periodicals,and in strength and beauty of style has few equals among American writers. The following selection is from a volume of her poems entitled "Drift Weed."
1.I stood on the height in the stillness And the planet’s outline scanned,And half was drawn with the line of sea And half with the far blue land.
2.With wings that caught the sunshine In the crystal deeps of the sky,Like shapes of dreams,the gleaming gulls Went slowly floating by.
3.Below me the boats in the harbor.Lay still,with their white sails furled;Sighing away intsilence,The breeze died off the world.
4.On the weather-worn,ancient ledges Peaceful the calm light slept;And the chilly shadows,lengthening,Slow tthe eastward crept.
5.The snow still lay in the hollows,And where the salt waves metThe iron rock,all ghastly white The thick ice glimmered yet.
6.But the smile of the sun was kinder,The touch of the air was sweet;The pulse of the cruel ocean seemed Like a human heart tbeat.
7.Frost-locked,storm-beaten,and lonely,In the midst of the wintry main,Our bleak rock yet the tidings heard: "There shall be spring again!"
8.Worth all the waiting and watching,The woe that the winter wrought,Was the passion of gratitude that shook My soul at the blissful thought!
9.Soft rain and flowers and sunshine,Sweet winds and brooding skies,Quick-flitting birds tfill the air With clear delicious cries;10.And the warm sea‘s mellow murmur Resounding day and night;A thousand shapes and tints and tones Of manifold delight,11.Nearer and ever nearer Drawing with every day!
But a little longer twait and watch ’Neath skies scold and gray;12.And hushed is the roar of the bitter north Before the might of the spring,And up the frozen slope of the world Climbs summer,triumphing.
